The room in Red London, once filled with Rhys’ teasing laughter and the warm hum of conversation, now lay in a rare and satisfying silence. The lamps flickered, their light barely steady against the weight of the city's pulse. The ink on the papers before Kell still gleamed, as dark and bottomless as his eyes. His focus was unwavering, fixed on the letters he had yet to write—words meant to smooth the chaos left in the wake of the black stone. And for a moment, everything felt… manageable. Maybe he could even let his heart slow, let himself breathe—perhaps even sleep past noon.

The quiet didn’t last.

A low hum began in the walls. Then came the hissing, the unmistakable sound of magic carving runes into the air. The blood-red marks bloomed like wounds across the smooth stone, forming words that dripped with quiet power. Kell exhaled through his nose, running a hand down his face before muttering into his palm. His mouth curled into a knowing, exasperated smile.

The door appeared with a shimmer, materializing in the wall as if it had always been there, waiting. A moment later, you stepped through, trailing the faint, ashen scent of Grey London behind you. You paused, giving the newly formed doorframe a light double knock with your knuckles, smirking.

Kell’s eyes flicked up from his desk, his weariness barely masked by the sharpness of his gaze. He didn’t answer, only watching as you crossed the room. You leaned against the table beside him, your hand already reaching for the single streak of white in his hair. You twisted it lazily around your fingers.

“Long day?” you asked. He let out a soft, dry laugh, leaning back just enough to look at you fully. “In Red London? The days are never long enough.”

You arched a brow, tracing the edge of his lock. “And yet, somehow, you still find the time to brood.”

Kell scoffed, shaking his head. “I don’t brood.”

You tilted your head, grinning. “You’re doing it right now.”

“It's focus,” he countered, though the faint smile on his lips betrayed him.